


I Watched While You Were Sleeping

by onlybritainisgreat (frecklesarechocolate)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, Hurt, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklesarechocolate/pseuds/onlybritainisgreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am just having a lot of Coulson Pheels, and that's all I'm going to say.</p>
<p>Thanks to colonialdncr for the beta!</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Watched While You Were Sleeping

"So that's what it does..."

Then darkness.

When awareness returns, the first thing he feels is the pain. Centered in his sternum, it radiates outward in waves that flow with the pumping of his heart. It reaches to the tips of his fingers and toes, and even the top of his head seems to throb. He _is_ pain. There is no concept of self other than pain.

Thankfully, he drifts off, but the pain remains.

When he comes back, the pain is still there, but shrunken, so that it no longer encompasses his entire body, but has traveled away from his extremities. While it's no longer in his fingers and toes, everything else hurts. A lot. The throbbing is still there, and he can barely breathe for it. This time there is also sound, rustling, a low murmur that might be a voice, but could also be a brook or stream – though he doesn't think he is outside. He feels a presence, a warmth, at his side.  Then something cool floats up his left arm and washes over him, pushing the pain back even further.

He drifts off again.

He wakes with a start that rattles his entire body and brings reality back full force. A soft sound that could be a groan or a sob pushes out of his throat. It isn't a fully realized sound. He is more aware of his surroundings; wherever he is, it is bright, light coming from above, and there is a sense of whiteness through his closed eyelids. He hears sounds more distinctly, murmuring, yes, but not a brook or a stream, but he thinks maybe people's voices. He senses a presence again, warmth. Actually, incredible warmth –  a furnace –  on his right side and he tries to turn to it, but that sends a great stabbing sensation, as though from a knife, through his abdomen. It radiates down through his legs, but not, he notices, through his arms, something that he takes notice of and decides to contemplate later. For now he just rides out the throbbing pain, the waves that pulse outward from his center.

Again he drifts, thinking that the darkness, the blackness, is better than this brightness. The warm presence remains at his side.

He no longer feels like his mind is wrapped in cotton wool, which is good. What is bad is that this seems to mean that the pain is back, crashing into him like waves on the shoreline. As before, he feels the warm presence at his side, and there is another one on the other side, not nearly as warm. He can also make out individual sounds and identify them as words, but as he's not entirely sure of their meaning, he believes they may be jumbled.

"...morphine...recovery..."

"....he....right..."

The words echo through his head as he tries to put them together and make sense of them, but that seems beyond him. Sometimes the sounds come across as buzzing, and he winces when he hears it. He realizes he _can_ wince. A small burst of hope rises in his chest, which is immediately squashed by another wave of pain.

He considers cracking an eye open to see into the whiteness, but decides against it.

Instead of drifting into oblivion, this time he drifts off into a light sleep, filled with images of blood, leather and metal. He hears voices, a soft, hissing one that makes his skin crawl, and another that feels like liquid chocolate. It spreads warmth through his body.

This time when he wakes he is well and truly awake. The room is quiet except for the beeping of machines and the rustle of fabric against fabric off to his right. The warm presence is there, that furnace that was there each time he drifted up through the deep. He hears his own breathing, which sounds harsh, rattling in his ears, but then he realizes he is breathing, and the pain, while there, has gone out, as the tide. The pain sits there at the edges of his consciousness, and he acknowledges its presence, but is grateful that it is far away.

He cracks open an eye, pleased that now he can do so, and almost immediately closes it again, blinded by the bright light streaming down from above. He makes a soft sound of displeasure and tries again. This time, the light isn't so bright.

He turns toward the furnace that sits to his right. He can't see much more than a large, brown-clad form, which almost bounces forward when it sees his movement. Something large and warm, almost hot, clasps one of his hands and squeezes oh so gently.

"You're awake!" It is the liquid chocolate voice, and he begins to focus now on the features that coalesce before him. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a worried crease between the brows, but a hopeful smile beginning to form on the corners of red lips.

He tries to speak, but his mouth is dry, so dry. The figure grabs something and uses fingers to pull out an ice cube, placing it gently in his mouth. He gratefully sucks on the ice, the cool water sliding down his throat. He opens his mouth again and finds that he can speak. "Cap..." He clears his throat and tries again. "Captain Rogers." Captain Rogers does smile then, a thousand watt smile that lights up his entire face. He fishes out another ice cube from the cup he is holding.

"Hi, Phil. Call me Steve, please." Steve puts the ice cube in Phil's mouth gently. "Welcome back."

 

 


End file.
